A Worthier Wish
by volkslieder
Summary: Guy/Marian, post 2x11. Guy and Marian working out how to be around each other, now they know each other a little better.


**Title:** _A Worthier Wish_  
**Rating:** G  
**Word count:** 761 words  
**Characters:** Guy/Marian  
**Summary:** Post 2x11. Guy and Marian working out how to be around each other. Written for for the Guy/Marian Secret Santa. Reposted here for archival purposes.

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_"Promise me something."  
"Name it."  
"Stay here. And make this place bearable."_

It was difficult at first, Guy felt. Even though she had seemed content to stay. They found themselves side-stepping around each other, neither quite knowing how the other felt.

One morning, the cook was in the Sheriff's apartments complaining again. The man did little else. There was not enough game, not enough fruit, he needed more hands, his kitchen was full of idiots. It never ceased. The latest problem? Food was being stolen, so he said.

"Not a lot," the cook said in his nasal whine of a voice, "but it can only get worse. And I'm sure you don't want your people short of food once winter comes."

Guy looked concerned. But the Sheriff merely waved the cook away, placing his feet more comfortably on the table.

"But, my lord -" said Guy, once the cook had left, "should we not deal to this? We cannot have people thinking we are weak."

"Stop being so damn insecure, Gisborne. Put guards in the kitchen if you're so anxious about your back door."

"But - it's only a minor thr- surely the guards are better used - " Guy faltered to a stop, unsure. The outlaw threat was ever-present, but to let the peasants think they could get away with robbing the castle was surely a bad idea. However, the Sheriff's mind was already on other things.

"I think I'm going to check on the prisoners," he announced. Then, leeringly, "better check they're being whipped enough. New jailer, you know." He paused at the door. "Just deal with it, Gisborne." His smile twisted, mocking. "See if you can't gain the Lady Marian's help. I'm sure she'd be eager to lend a hand. And if not...I'm sure the jailer could persuade her."

Guy gave a stiff nod, and the Sheriff left. He spun on his heel in frustration. More than ever, now, he was finding the castle claustrophobic and the Sheriff frustratingly incompetent. So many times he chose wicked and foolish over sensible and good. It was peverse. Guy had no great liking for perversity, and certainly not when it turned the people against them. It was the Sheriff's fault that he had not won the affection of Robin's people, since it was the Sheriff's leadership he had imitated in ruling them. If he had the chance over again, if he had another voice at his ear and softer guiding hand…no. It was foolish to think so.

"Foolish," he said aloud, and the word echoed into the stillness.

"What is foolish, Guy?" said Marian's voice from behind him.

"Speak of the devil…" said Guy, softly.

"Really?" said Marian. Her voice had a slight edge to it. "I'll leave, then, if I'm not wanted." He heard her spin on her heel and head for the door.

"No – " he said, turning to face her. Her face was slightly flushed, as if by summer heat. But midsummer was passing, had passed. There was nothing but cold in this room, the sun's heat barely straining from where it touched the stone on the far side of the room.

"I am devilish then, am I, Guy?" Marian said. She was teasing him, he could tell, but there was an honesty to her mocking now. An understanding between them that both had been wrong. Her in always seeking to trick and him in always wishing to believe it.

"No," he said, his voice still quiet in the room's hush. "It was just – we had mentioned you."

"I see," said Marian. "Should I be worried?"

"No," said Guy, quickly. "I would tell you if there was something to worry about. He suspects nothing."

"Just as well," she said, with the smallest of wry smiles. She wasn't the perfection he'd once imagined her, no. But what she was…she still fascinated him. Drew him in.

Those moments in the storehouse as she removed her mask. He knew her eyes, recognized each inch of face as it was shown. Yet he lied to himself, lied until he saw her scar and hate thudded strong through his belly and brain. Not at her. At himself. At his slaughtering the last hope he had of having her.

And then – rescuing her – it was as if the faintest breath of life had whispered through that slaughtered hope.

And if she was somewhere between devil and Redeemer (oh, she was no goddess) if she could help him be further from a devil, surely that was something?

A worthier something to wish for, at any rate.

---

_end._


End file.
